Or Trick Me Mean
by Punch and Judy
Summary: An alternate ending presented in a sequence of short chapters, with the perspective switching between Sebastian and Kathryn. Composed by two authors. Sexual content and language suggested for mature audiences.
1. Chapter 1

Annette Hargrove was a fairy princess, a china doll; and once, a cherry blossom. An upstanding young woman, whose simplicity and self righteousness challenged the wayward. A tangent bet with Kathryn Merteuil became a personal challenge, and Sebastian was forced to swallow the blonde's personality like a large pill. His focus on her was so steady and so sharp that the superficial things in life which truly mattered had begun to blur. His obsession, a malevolent breed, was so aggressive and twisted and painful, that it could only have been mistaken for that high-in-sky, heavenly emotion known as love.

Like in all desires, the passion subsided, and once he had achieved his goal the effort of sustaining their relationship was no longer worth it. For the history books, yes, she did cry. A loud, hiccupping, wail. Cursing him, asking "Why?" and crying more. But that detail can be scanned and tossed away, for all women are fierce in their emotions, tears hot and voices loud in an attempt to guilt the immune heart of a man. "Why?" She had question, needing rational to band-aid her broken heart. A condescending, impatient sigh had answered followed by a shrug which claimed he had no answer. But mentally he had remarked, 'Well, I was bored, I guess.'

Sebastian knew better than to stand by a woman like Annette Hargrove. To do so would surely end his life.

His prize was Kathryn; cat like in her movements, with regal posture and cruelty in her intents. A heart of stone to couple his own, when they smashed together there were sparks. Slowly, their relations had become regular, although, no less impassioned.

Moments before she had stood above him, a daunting presence, or maybe it had just been her candour when she told him where to put _it_. He had declined what she said was a demand and not an offer. Quickly, her aggression transformed into a pout, and raking her fingers through the small curls at the nape of his neck, while her other hand dipped into others more forbidden, she asked with the kindness of a minx. He had shooed her irritably away, dropping the weight of his journal on her tempting hand. The appendage drew back and he half expected to hear the hiss of an ill-tempered feline.

"Fine," she declared with a coyness that caused him to worry. And with a self pleased smile, "I'll just help myself."

"Enjoy," he hastily replied, cracking the spine of his journal as he flipped it open to a fresh page.

A ballpoint pen transcribed his thoughts in a neat script, but barely a paragraph had been jotted before he became highly aware of the noise coming from his bedroom. It was unmistakable, the acute moan of a woman; drops of pleasure gathering in the throat before spouting out of lips like a fountain of song. The pen stopped, as did his thoughts, as he sat still so not even the rustling of fabric would ruin the exaggerated whimper. It was loud. Pornographic. A sound, a command, forcing him to _rise_.

"Kathryn," he called, starting sing-song, but the end of her name was tainted with his bad temperament. "Will you shut your face hole."

There was a surprised shriek, as she discovered some secret spot of pleasure, before her breathy voice answered, "Leave me alone."

Sebastian turned to focus on his journal, rereading the words he had already written. The room had become quiet again, and satisfied, he went back to pen his thoughts. The ballpoint faltered in his grip, however, shaken when a sound of pure Kathryn filtered through the room with new enthusiasm. Explicit thoughts ransacked his imagination. In the spot light was her naked body surging toward a climax, her hand between her legs as she searched for the perfect high.

A grumble moved his lips as he tossed his journal aside, stood, and walked toward his bedroom. When he pushed open the door the half lit room exposed his bare half-sister, on all fours, one hand holding a vibrating device behind her, his sudden appearance halting it mid thrust. She smiled at his displeasure, posed in her position of masturbation.

"My marionette," she titled.

"Your _finger_ _puppet_."

"My _dummy._"

"I told you to shut up." To this she didn't answer, only stared, still penetrated by her found object as he loosened his shirt collar and pulled the expensive garment over his head. "Now you're going to get it." And at last, she smiled genuinely.


	2. Chapter 2

Kathryn Merteuil was a soft spoken lady. She articulated, somewhere between a purr and a whimper, and inspired thoughts of sincerity automatically and doubt of it later. Her words each sounded carefully spoken, artfully planned, but flavored with a monotone that, after time, made one think she was reading from a script. Whether her inner most thoughts were revealed was never a question, but rather an automatic dismissal; her writer was paid handsomely. And so when her dark-glossed lips parted to show off her embellished squeal, it was for the deception of others and not her own personal enjoyment.

Her reward for the performance? The door unlatched dryly. Sebastian was so easy. All she had to do was pull the right strings. "My marionette," she labeled him over her shoulder, lips curling at the though as she rested on her elbow and knees. She could practically see the taunt string from the wrist of her occupied hand, stretching underneath her to aid where he'd refused, to where it disappeared into the zipper of his artfully tailored pants.

"Your finger puppet."

"My dummy."

Her wrist flexed, returning his competition to its position within her once again, and tugging on the string to jerk him closer. "I told you to shut up. Now you're going to get it," he threatened, turning her blank stare turned into a self-satisfied smile, one that almost simpered at how predictable he was. Sebastian never wanted her to shut up. And so she complied: "Get what?"

He clearly understood she needed no more foreplay than she'd provided for herself. The removal of his clothes was done without artistry or sexuality, but rather with an air of annoyance. Not annoyance with them, annoyance with her. She didn't notice; her attention had returned forwards, dismissing his presence until he decided to join her. The self-pleasing motion she'd adopted continued, but the vocalization was significantly absent. Or at least those were the terms until his set of hands snatched her toy away roughly, with little regard for her insides; Sebastian had never learned how to share. It landed beside her knee with a thud dulled by the heavy comforter, and the bed sank slightly behind her as he chose his position.

Kathryn wasn't left wanting for longer than it would have taken to snap her fingers. His personal replacement was forced inside her as abruptly as the plastic variety had been removed. The sudden entrance pushed its way through her entire body and finally emerged from her Reddish Fetish painted lips as a very audible and very high-pitched exclamation. Another thrust and she had both elbows supporting her forward-tilting body once again. Another thrust and her body was silent, lips parted slightly as she gasped into the bed spread.

Their first time together had been habit forming. When he'd touched her his hands had fumbled in the attempt to assert his superiority, to claim his "prize," and she'd laughed as he bobbled like a pre-teen with pimples. The insult had braced him—no man enjoyed being laughed at—and so he'd bent her over without any more hesitation, touched her until she'd asked for it, and still left her wanting more. Sebastian Valmont had obsessed Kathryn Merteuil since his father had slipped a ring on her mother's finger. Playing out his fantasies had been more vivid and extensive than she'd anticipated.

Raven hair spilled into her face. She shook her head to send it backwards, and then used a hand to unglue the pieces stuck in her lip gloss as she began to turn her head back around to smirk at him; she never doubted she would get her way. But the motion was stopped abruptly by one of Sebastian's hands. Instead of allowing her to look at him, he forced her forehead down until it touched the comforter. He maintained his grip as his hips continued to move her body. "Fuck you," she complained, then regretted opening her mouth at all; loosening her tongue allowed space for small whimpers to form. Soon, her lips were tasting the embroidery of his bedspread as she moaned her approval, louder than the theatrics that had begun the meeting. Soft spoken lady, indeed; she voiced her one-word instructions through door-piercing moans. "Harder, Valmont," she demanded of the comforter, eyes closed against the red and gold coloring.

Her step brother was the best fuck of her life. Kathryn wondered what that meant about her family.


	3. Chapter 3

A meterosexual hand, pampered, manicured and callus free from a life without labour, was strengthened by an animalistic grip. A talon, trimmed and healthy, pressed against Kathryn's skull, her conditioner-commercial hair knotted around his fingers, tugged by his flexing hold. The brunet wave caused Herbal Essence moans, but all those full-bodied flips over the shoulder which caused envy and desire no longer dazzled. The shimmer was sweaty and that perfect brush was thrown; he forced her face into the bed like a man willing her to suffocate.

And like a victim she gasped for breath. But there was no panic and no struggle. She rasped and he was relentless. He kept her in place, into a pose of submission, while flesh slapped together without grace or amorous sensuality. Pressure was placed on her head when she snapped a demand, a grunt responded to her order or perhaps his rapid penetration. Refusing to heed her, he cut his puppet strings, entering her with little finesse or technique for her benefit. A deeper plunge with more intensity was denied. With his free hand on her hip, he sped up his thrust, his back bending and his body arching over her, hurrying toward his own explosive release.

With no contribution to his reputation as a talented man with an impressive and overactive sex drive, Sebastian choked out his quick ending, with more self satisfaction than physical gratification. He shot into her, ejaculate that was socially pronounced as 'off limits' to his step-sister's sweet smelling and overly temping cunt. Above her his whole body stiffened. The momentary paralysis was short lived, however, and he rolled off to lie beside her naked, landing with a soft thump like her dildo had a few short minutes before.

"What the fuck," was her breathless, but nevertheless angry, response as her bottom dropped and her head swung around to face him. Sebastian was admiring her toy, holding it up above him and observing it with more attentiveness than he was to his sister who he had left high and _dry._

"My _cum rag_," he trumped, linking back to their previous cruel banter. And he pointed the large toy, which smelt deeply of her, to her face, pushing it tauntingly toward her lips which showed off her displeasure. "You've got to learn no means no," he hummed matter-of-fact as she swatted the toy from her face. With a sigh of disinterest he turned onto his stomach. "I told dear Cecile that the only difference between her and a toilet is that when you're done with the toilet it doesn't keep following you around. Your silly power games are beginning to reek the same way. An air freshener of coyness doesn't change the fact that your only purpose is to sit their waiting for me to take a dump."


End file.
